


When Wei Wuxian Isn't Home

by deanlockiradall



Category: Founder of Diabolism, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Mo Dao Zu Shi, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 魔道祖师 | Módào Zǔshī (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys Will Be Boys, Dog - Freeform, Drums, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Flute - Freeform, Friendship, Implied Relationships, Implied Slash, Internet, M/M, MDZS - Freeform, Meme, Mischief, Music, One Shot, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Single Parents, everyone plays an intrument, fear of dogs, guqin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanlockiradall/pseuds/deanlockiradall
Summary: A song that meant nothing can't be forgotten.





	When Wei Wuxian Isn't Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ["When Mom Isn't Home All Parts 1-4"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/461738) by Bisector Studio. 



> I live under a rock: my outdated internet humor is proof of that.

 

_“Jiang Cheng, listen to this song I just thought up!” Ten-year-old Wei Ying waved his flute in Jiang Cheng’s face excitedly. He had only recently started learning how to play, and it had quickly become one of his newest obsessions, much to Jiang Cheng’s chagrin. This was in part because while_ he _felt that Wei Ying played badly, their music tutor felt that the wayward boy had talent, if only he would apply himself better. And of course, this ability had drawn Jiang Fengmian’s paternal affections even more toward Wei Ying, while Jiang Cheng, who had little interest in music, drifted further into the shadows._

_“Go away,” Jiang Cheng growled, shoving the flute out of his face. “I already hear you practicing every day. Play it for someone else.”_

_Wei Ying’s face fell. “But it’s a song for you…” He shuffled slightly on the dock on which the two boys were perched, overlooking the lake. Wei Ying called it their secret hideout. Jiang Cheng scoffed and said it was actually_ his _hideout, and he only grudgingly allowed Wei Ying permission to use it, too._

_Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the similarity between Wei Ying’s expression and a pleading puppy, and forced himself to look instead at the way the summer sunlight glittered over the water and made the lotus flowers glow with color. But he could feel Wei Ying’s disappointment almost radiating out from him. Jiang Cheng groaned and flopped onto his back on the dock, purple-clad arms outspread. He closed his eyes against the sun. “Ugh, fine. Play it—but it had better sound good, or I’ll push you into the lake!”_

_There was a moment of silence, in which Jiang Cheng could all too clearly picture Wei Ying’s face breaking out into a grin as the boy lifted the flute to his lips. However, instead of the slow, squeaky melodies that Wei Ying had been assigned—and which, frankly, Jiang Cheng was sick and tired of—the tune blasting from the instrument was unlike anything Jiang Cheng had heard before: peppy, upbeat, pulsing with rhythm._

 

♪♪ PHWEE phweephweephweephweephwee phee phwee pheepheephee phwee PHWEE! PHWEE phweephweephweephweephweephwee phee PHWEE phwee phweephwee PHWEEE! ♫

 

_Jiang Cheng’s eyes snapped open. “What the hell was that?” He squinted up at Wei Ying, a dark shadow silhouetted against the sun. “Is that even music?”_

_Wei Ying grinned and lowered his flute. “’Course it is! I wrote it, didn’t I?” He squatted down. “There’s a part for you, too.”_

_Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes, suspicious. It wouldn’t be out of the question for ‘his part’ to consist of Wei Ying pushing him into the lake, just as Jiang Cheng had threatened to do earlier. Still, he couldn’t help being curious. “What is it?”_

_With his free hand, Wei Ying pulled two short, squat cylinders of wood from his sleeve. He offered them to Jiang Cheng._

_Jiang Cheng didn’t move. “There’s no drum,” he pointed out. “And anyway, I don’t play.”_

_It was Wei Ying’s turn to roll his eyes. “You don’t need a drum,” he chided. “Just do what the song makes you feel like doing. That’s how music works.”_

_When Jiang Cheng still didn’t move, Wei Ying shrugged, dropped the sticks on Jiang Cheng’s stomach, and sat down on the edge of the dock, feet dangling over the quiet blue waves. He put his flute to his lips again._

 

♪♪ PHWEE phweephweephweephweephwee phee phwee pheepheephee phwee PHWEE…

 

_Jiang Cheng groaned and rolled over to cover his ears. As he did so, the drumsticks fell to the dock with a consecutive_ thump-thump _that echoed dully in Jiang Cheng’s eardrums._

 

…PhWEE phweephweephweephweephweephwee phee PHWEE phwee phweephwee PHWEEE! ♫

 

_Jiang Cheng eyed the drumsticks through his dark bangs, his hands unable to block out all of Wei Ying’s tune. Jiang Cheng might not know a thing about melody or harmony or any of that fancy stuff, but he could feel a beat as well as anyone, and he sure as hell could make more noise than Wei Ying with his obnoxious flute._

_Jiang Cheng sat up and grabbed the drumsticks. He met Wei Ying’s hopeful glance with a determined grin of his own as he raised the drumsticks high and brought them down hard on the wood of the dock._ Thud-thud _. The vibrations rattling up his arms to his shoulders were more satisfying than he expected, so he repeated his actions and hit the wood planks with as much force as he could muster._ THUD. THUD.

_A laugh bubbled from his mouth at the feeling of power the drumsticks gave him, and he kept going. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD._

_Wei Ying, meanwhile had adjusted to the beat Jiang Cheng had set, his notes dancing through the pounding wood._

 

♪♪ PHWEEEEE phweephweephweephweephwee phee phwee pheepheephee phwee PHWEEEEEEE!

      THUD.      THUD.          THUD.         THUD.          THUD.        THUD.                 THUD. THUD.

 

PhWEEEEE phweephweephweephweephweephwee phee PHWEE phwee phweephwee PHWEEE! ♫

THUD.      THUD.          THUD.          THUD.                   THUD.             THUD.           THUD.

_As Jiang Cheng heard the notes rising about his beat, he drummed louder, but Wei Ying matched him volume for volume, until it seemed that all of Lotus Pier could hear the noise they were making. Indeed, from the distance, they could barely hear a shout to “Pipe down!”_

_The boys’ eyes met at that, and they couldn’t help the laughter that burst from their mouths. Their ‘music’ stumbled to a halt as they both ran out of breath. Then Wei Ying struck a pose and Jiang Cheng pushed him into the lake because it was all too ridiculous._

 

***

 

Jiang Cheng grimaced. It had been at least a decade since he’d thought of that song, and he had no idea why it had suddenly resurfaced in his memory. It wasn’t like that day had been particularly special, either. Just a stupid song that led to another prank that Wei Wuxian had talked him into participating in and getting scolded for. And now Wei Wuxian was dead and Jiang Cheng had lost almost everything dear to him, and—

And the song was stuck in his head. Given the catchiness of the tune, it would likely be stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

“I hate that guy so much,” Jiang Cheng muttered, pressing a hand to his face in a mix of frustration, exasperation, and loathing. Even in death, Wei Wuxian seemed to haunt him. “Get out of my head. And take that fucking song with you!”

“Uncle?” A small voice quavered behind him.

_“What?”_ Jiang Cheng snapped, turning around. Wei Wuxian’s childish flute melody piped brashly through his mind like laughter. Jiang Cheng’s scowl deepened.

Jin Ling quailed at his uncle’s apparent anger, but tried to hide it. At nine years old, he was already practically grown up and so had to be tough if he didn’t want his uncle to look down on him. The red mark on his forehead trembled as he fought to keep his expression stoic, even as his yellow-sleeved hands tightened in Fairy’s dark fur. “I… I just…”

“Spit it out!” Jiang Cheng ordered impatiently, still frowning.

Jin Ling looked away, expression puckering a little, as if he’d had to drink bitter medicine. He mumbled something inaudibly. In front of him, his spirit dog whined lowly.

“Speak properly or forget it,” Jiang Cheng told him irritably. _THUD THUD THUD_ went the drumsticks in his brain.

“I just wondered what song you’re humming!” Jin Ling nearly shouted, face screwed up with the effort. His stiff posture suggested that he would have run away after that, but for the manners instilled in him to wait until he’d been dismissed. “You’ve been singing it all day, Uncle!”

Jiang Cheng froze. Had he really been humming it out loud all this time? Fucking Wei Wuxian. “It’s a stupid song,” he told Jin Ling. “It’s not worth thinking about.”

“But, Uncle—” At Jiang Cheng’s glare, Jin Ling stopped and re-threaded his fingers through Fairy’s fur. He knew that if he said anything about how Jiang Cheng had almost looked happy when he’d been humming that song, Jin Ling would get the worst beating of his life. So, instead, he muttered, “I want to learn it.”

Jiang Cheng stared down at him, at a temporary loss for words. “You never expressed an interest in music before,” he managed at last.

Jin Ling shrugged. “Will you teach me or not, Uncle?” he shot back, nerves making him petulant even as he feared possible retribution.

“If I teach you, will you stop bothering me about it?” In that moment, Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure if he was speaking to his nephew or his former foster brother, but he had the distinct impression that Wei Wuxian was laughing at him from beyond the grave.

Jin Ling, meanwhile, nodded stiffly, and tried to surreptitiously wipe his sweaty palms on the back of his yellow robes. Fairy wagged its tail, fearless.

Jiang Cheng sighed, resisting the urge to pinch his nose. “Fine. Go find a pair of drumsticks.”

 

***

 

_Fifteen-year-old Wei Wuxian was laughing, a jar of Emperor’s Smile dangling form one hand. Moonlight glinted off the glazed ceramic. “Lan Zhan, how’s this—if I make you laugh, promise you never saw me sneaking out tonight?”_

_Lan Wangji said nothing, face impassive. He had reminded Wei Wuxian before that alcohol was forbidden in the Cloud Recesses; there was no point in saying so again. Instead, he blocked Wei Wuxian’s way back: an obstacle, a door guard, a challenge._

_Wei Wuxian apparently took his silence for agreement, for he stopped trying to dance around Lan Wangji and leaned back against the tree he’d used to sneak out in the first place. The dark roof tiles of the wall encircling the Cloud Recesses crunched slightly under his boots. Wei Wuxian raised the jug. “I’ll even share with you,” he offered with a smile. “Rice wine goes well with a good story.”_

_It wasn’t the first time he’d offered, and it wasn’t the first time that Lan Wangji didn’t bother to dignify the question with a response._

_Wei Wuxian shrugged, ponytail bouncing slightly with the movement. “Suit yourself,” he said, then removed the red cloth covering the jar and drank._

_Lan Wangji lunged to knock the jar out of Wei Wuxian’s grip, but the black-clad youth dodged out of the way._

_“Oi, I haven’t even told my story yet!” Wei Wuxian protested, and leapt to a sturdy branch out of Lan Wangji’s reach, Emperor’s Smile still safely in hand. “Will you listen?”_

_Lan Wangji looked up at him. Wei Wuxian was essentially stuck—if he came down from the tree, Lan Wangji would be waiting for him. If he stayed in the tree, he couldn’t get back inside the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji said nothing; the situation was clear—Wei Wuxian could do what he liked, as long as he was aware of the consequences._

_Wei Wuxian took another swallow of rice wine and chuckled a little. “As a musician, I think you’ll like this story, Lan Zan,” he said to the figure in white below him. “I had just shown Jiang Cheng this silly song I’d come up with…” He proceeded to describe Jiang Cheng’s reaction, and the water fight that had followed after Jiang Cheng had pushed him into the lake by Lotus Pier and Wei Wuxian had pulled him in, too, drumsticks and all._

_“But that’s not the best part.” Wei Wuxian winked. “The next morning, a little before dawn, we snuck out to the sentry tower where the really huge drums are kept, and blasted that song as loud as we could! I swear, I’ve never seen Jiang Cheng hit anything as hard as he hit the drum that day!” He laughed. “You should have seen everyone’s faces! They all rushed out with their swords as if an army was coming, but it was obvious that they’d just been jolted out of bed. Still, we were better than any rooster, don’t you think, Lan Zhan?”_

_Lan Wangji stared up at him. “…Ridiculous,” he said, but in the shadows of night, it was hard to tell if he was smiling._

 

***

 

A soft creak of a floorboard pulled Lan Wangji from his reverie. He looked up to see six-year-old Lan Yuan peering nervously into his room through a crack in the door. Lan Wangji stilled his fingers from their absentminded plucking of guqin strings, the instrument set on a table before him. “It’s late.”

The boy’s mouth trembled. “Bad dream,” he sniffled. “There were bad things. Monsters. An uncle was supposed to save me, but…Uncle wasn’t there. No one was.”

Lan Wangji knew all too well that this was no mere dream. He opened his mouth, but before he thought of what to say, the image of a grass butterfly flitted through his memory. Perhaps it would be better to let the boy think it was only a nightmare. He was just a child, after all.

In the dim candlelight, Lan Wangji could see A-Yuan looking at him, waiting. Lan Wangji didn’t know what he was waiting for, exactly. Comfort? Condolences? A cup of tea? Wei Wuxian had been better at those sorts of things. Lan Wangji only knew how to keep silent, tell the truth, and follow the rules set before him.

_Wei Ying, what would you do? How would you brush away this child’s fears and send him back to sleep?_

But Wei Wuxian was gone, and all Lan Wangji had left were disjointed scraps of memories.

_“I had just shown Jiang Cheng this silly song I’d come up with…”_

How had it gone again? Had Wei Wuxian ever told him? Lan Wangji couldn’t remember, but perhaps it didn’t matter. “Come here,” he said, extending a white-robed hand awkwardly to the boy.

A-Yuan shuffled shyly into Lan Wangji’s chambers, leaving the door open behind him. He’d forgotten his forehead ribbon in his room in his panic, and the clean white clothing that the Lan clan had provided for him was a far cry from the threadbare gray rags he’d worn at the Burial Mounds and in captivity. Lan Wangji found himself wondering if Wei Wuxian would recognize this boy as the toddler he’d taken in those two years ago.

“Will you make the bad dream go away?” A-Yuan asked. His hand twitched slightly at his side, as if searching for a beloved toy, now lost.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji said. “I’ll teach you a song to protect you from monsters. Sit.”

He had expected that A-Yuan would sit across from him, to watch him play his guqin, but to his surprise, A-Yuan instead clambered into his lap, then tilted his face up to look at Lan Wangji expectantly.

“…” Did this child think Lan Wangji was his father? A flash of memory of a day in a crowded marketplace and a child crying, “Daddy, Daddy,” echoed in Lan Wangji’s mind. Surely A-Yuan didn’t still remember _that_?

Lan Wangji looked down at the boy and gave in. Just once would be acceptable, right? A-Yuan was just a boy, after all…

“Listen.” Lan Wangji lifted his fingers to the strings, arms encircling the boy on his lap, then began to play.

When he looked back down a few minutes later, A-Yuan was curled up against him, fast asleep.

 

***

 

“I’m so _bored_ ,” Lan Jingyi complained, falling back on the grass beside Lan Sizhui. Above them, a light autumn breeze shook the branches of the tree in whose shade they reclined.

“Have you finished your assignments for class?” Sizhui looked down at him, a glint of amusement in his teenage eyes.

“I don’t wanna do any assignments,” Jingyi complained. “They’re boring, too.”

“The teacher will punish you if you don’t complete the work,” Sizhui reminded him. “Haven’t you copied the sect rules enough times already?”

Jingyi waved him off. “I’ll do them later. Probably.”

On Sizhui’s other side, Jin Ling snorted. “And you call yourself a member of the GusuLan Sect. Aren’t you all supposed to be as prim and proper as HanGuang-Jun and ZeWu-Jun?”

“Jin Ling has a point, you know,” Sizhui pointed out. “You could get punished for lack of decorum too, Jingyi.”

“Only if they catch me,” Jingyi grumbled, but sat up in a proper position anyway. “In any case, Jin Ling, since you’re visiting with your uncle today, don’t you have stuff to do, as well?”

Jin Ling shrugged. “Uncle’s got sect leader business to discuss. I don’t need to be there for that, since I’m not going to be in charge of Lotus Pier.”

“It seems you have the most time out of all of us,” Sizhui observed as Jingyi sputtered in envy.

Jin Ling shook his head. “Only until my uncle gets back.”

“Then let’s _do_ something!” Jingyi exclaimed, returning to his original point. “Jin Ling has no time to waste and I’m. So. Bored.”

“Are you sure he’s one of yours?” Jin Ling whispered to Sizhui as Jingyi flopped back down on the grass and continued to complain. “I mean, he has the forehead ribbon, but maybe he’s, you know, adopted?”

“Of course he is,” Sizhui replied. “He just chooses to act this way when he can relax a little and doesn’t have to worry so much about appearances.”

Uncomfortably aware of how close that observation came to analyzing his own personality, Jin Ling changed the subject. “If you’re so bored, what do you want to do?” he called to Jingyi.

“I don’t knooow,” came the muffled response from the now-prone Lan Jingyi. “That’s the problem.”

“Where’s your flute, Jingyi?” Sizhui asked. “You could play something. We could even play something together, as an ensemble.”

“Jin Ling doesn’t play anything, though,” Jingyi pointed out. “Wouldn’t he be left out?”

“I know a few songs!” Jin Ling protested defensively.

Both GusuLan Sect youths turned to look at him, Jingyi pushing himself up on his elbows to do so.

“You do?” Jingyi asked incredulously.

“Which ones?” Sizhui spoke firmly over him. “We might know them, too.”

Jin Ling shrugged. “There’s this one song…I don’t know the name. It’s just something I learned when I was little.” He thought for a moment, trying to remember a tune he hadn’t thought about in years. Didn’t it go something like…

_HMM hmhmhmhmhm hm hm hmhmhm hm HMM…_ He struggled to hum along as his fingers tapped out a steady beat against the grass. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

He looked over at the two Lan youths to find them staring at him. “What?” Jin Ling protested defensively. “Just because I don’t play anything doesn’t mean I’m _that_ bad at remembering a damn song!”

“No, it’s not that,” Sizhui said hastily. “It’s just—”

“How do you know Sizhui’s song?” Jingyi demanded. “HanGuang-Jun taught him that when he was little!”

“Hah?”” Jin Ling scowled. “It’s my song! My uncle taught _me_ that song when _I_ was younger!”

Jingyi scrambled up to an undignified kneeling position. “Are you implying that Sizhui—”

“Wait a moment, please,” Sizhui broke in, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I need to verify something. Can I trust you two not to fight while I go fetch my guqin?” The other two nodded reluctantly. “Good. I will return shortly.”

True to his word, Sizhui returned a few minutes later with his guqin, Jingyi’s flute, and a small drum and drumsticks for Jin Ling. “You seemed to have a talent for rhythm,” Sizhui said in explanation as he handed the instrument to the yellow-robed youth.

Once the three of them were settled back under the shade of the tree, Sizhui turned to Jin Ling. “Would you sing your song again?”

Jin Ling glanced at Jingyi, then nodded reluctantly and repeated his recitation, this time with more determined confidence.

“I understand now,” Sizhui said after he finished. “You’re both partly right. Let me play my version, and perhaps you’ll hear why.” He set his guqin gently onto his lap and began to play.

 

♪♪ _Ting ting tingting tingting ting ting. Tingting tingting-tingting. Ting. Ting ting tingting tingting-tingting. Ting ting tingting ting tingting ting. Ting. Ting ting tingting tingting ting ting. Tingting tingting-tingting. Ting. Ting-ting ting-ting tingtingting ting-ting tingting ting. Ting!_ ♫

 

“Do you hear what I mean?” Sizhui asked when he was finished.

“Oh.” Jingyi looked appropriately chastised. “It’s similar, but…”

“Different!” Jin Ling declared triumphantly. Even if he wasn’t as musical as the other two, he could at least tell that much. “They’re not the same song!”

“Only slightly different!” Jingyi protested, defending his pride.

“They’re variations,” Sizhui broke in again, to stop the bickering before it escalated. “Similar, but distinct, and likely both based on an original theme.”

“But whose was the original?” Jin Ling wanted to know.

“Probably HanGuang-Jun,” Jingyi boasted. “Everyone knows he’s a master of music.”

“Does it matter?” Sizhui asked. “We already have two versions to pick from, and three instruments. Why not just make our own variation instead?”

He was right, of course.

After some discussion, it was decided that Jin Ling would maintain the rhythm pattern that he’d already learned, while Jingyi and Sizhui worked out the melody and harmony. “Why don’t you just start with something and I’ll jump in later?” Jingyi suggested.

Sizhui nodded. “Alright. Jin Ling, I’ll match you.”

Jing Ling nodded curtly, and picked up his drumsticks.

Sizhui glanced at them both, then signaled that he was about to play.

 

♪♪ _Ting ting tingtingting TING tingting tingtingting TING tingting tingting ting TING ting ting tingting. TINGtingting TING tingting TING tingting tingting tingting ting tingting…_ ♫

 

As Sizhui repeated his phrasing, Jingyi jumped in.

 

♪♪ _Doodoodoodoodoo. Doodoodoodoodoo._ Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. _Doodoodoodoodoo._ ♫

 

Then, as Jingyi and Sizhui both returned to the beginning of their phrasings, Jing Ling added his rhythm: THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.

The boys continued on like this for a while longer. With each iteration, their playing grew more confident and their cohesiveness solidified as each player grew more comfortable with each other’s playing styles.

 

♪♪ _TING ting        tingtingting          TING tingting tingtingting    TING tingting tingting ting TING_

_Doodoodoodoodoo.                     Doodoodoodoodoo._                                                            

     THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.       THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.  THUD.            THUD.            THUD.

_ting ting tingting. TINGtingting TING tingting  TING tingting tingting tingting ting tingting…_ ♫

                             _Doodoodoodoodoo.             Doodoodoodoodoo._

THUD. THUD.       THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.     THUD.           THUD.

 

Was it the original theme? No. Was it better than Jiang Cheng’s or Lan Wangji’s variations? To the boys, maybe, but perhaps it would be better to keep that thought to themselves.

In any case, none of them seemed to care when Jingyi’s and Sizhui’s teacher reprimanded the boys for causing an undue racket and disturbing the peace of the Cloud Recesses.

“Copy the rules of the GusuLan Sect a thousand times in a handstand position,” the teacher decreed. “You, too, Young Master Jin,” he added as Jin Ling didn’t quite manage to hide a snicker. “You may not be a member for the GusuLan Sect, but while you are here, you would do well to follow our rules out of courtesy.”

“Yes, sir,” the boys chorused, bowing; but once the teacher had walked away, they glanced at each other, unrepentant.

 

***

 

Wei Wuxian was stuck in a tree, trying his best to ignore the barking of the spirit dog below him. The former Yiling Patriarch, most feared demonic cultivator ever, clutched at the tree trunk with trembling hands and whimpered as Fairy paced excitedly several meters below him. The canine peered up at him and barked again, then reared up slightly and rested its paws against the tree trunk, as if to push it down.

Others might have laughed at the sight of a grown man running from a dog with such a friendly demeanor. Unfortunately, Wei Wuxian was _not_ one of those people. Instead, he could only pray for Lan Wangji to find him soon and carry him away from the terrifying beast waiting to eat him.

All he’d meant to do that day was to keep out of trouble. When he’d heard that Jiang Cheng was going to be coming to discuss sect leader matters, Wei Wuxian had decided to make himself scarce. In this second life, he had no business sticking his nose into minor inter-sect affairs, and he was in no mood to fight with Jiang Cheng today.

But he hadn’t counted on Jin Ling and his dog. Fairy seemed to have sniffed him out practically right away, and Wei Wuxian had gone from minding his own business in a quiet corner of the Cloud Recesses to running for his life from this slavering fiend.

_How had this even happened?_ he had wailed in his mind as he tore through gardens and over the bridge. _Aren’t dogs forbidden in the Cloud Recesses?_

Fairy barked a third time. Wei Wuxian whimpered and desperately tried to distract himself so that he wouldn’t faint out of fear.

What was that sound in the distance? Wei Wuxian tried to focus. Was it…music?

 

♪♪ _TING ting        tingtingting…_ ♫

_Doodoodoodoodoo…_                                                            

     THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD…       

 

Who was playing that tune? he wondered, straining to separate the different instrument voices in his head. A guqin, that was first; next, a flute; then, a drum? But who would be playing a drum in the Cloud Recesses? Wei Wuxian tried to remember the different cultivators who lived here and what instruments they preferred, but then Fairy clawed at the tree, tail wagging, and Wei Wuxian’s mind went blank with fear.

When his mind partially cleared again, Wei Wuxin tried to focus on the music once more, but it had stopped. There had been something familiar about that song, he thought hazily, but what was it? Perhaps if he played it himself, he would remember; but playing his flute would mean letting go of the tree. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem for him, but given the circumstances...

He glanced down again, and didn’t know whether to cry from relief or fear. Fairy was no longer barking or pawing at the tree; instead, the spirit dog had settled down at the base of the trunk, apparently content to wait until Wei Wuxian attempted to descend.

_Lan Zhan, where are you?!_ he whimpered in his mind. _Please hurry and save me!_

There was no response. For now, Wei Wuxian was alone. He shuddered and dragged he gaze back up to his (fortunately sturdy) branch. Maybe, if he didn't look at Fairy, he could pretend there was no dog, and that he was just perched in the tree of his own free will. For fun. For the view. Because he felt like it. That’s all. No other reason whatsoever.

Slowly, his breathing seemed to ease just the tiniest bit, and he felt himself calm a little. Cautiously, he eased himself around on the tree branch until he’d maneuvered himself from a desperate cling to a more casual sitting position, his back against the trunk. Throughout the entire, excruciatingly slow process, he looked anywhere but at the canine-that-did-not-exist, and did his best to ignore his sweaty hands.

Finally, when he was settled enough that he felt assured that he wouldn’t topple off the branch, he untied his makeshift flute from his belt and brought it to his lips. It wasn’t as sleek an instrument as Chenqing, he lamented briefly, but it served his purposes. Perhaps one day, he’d get a new one. In the meantime, this would do well enough.

He blew a few notes softly, to warm himself up and work out the kinks in his stiff fingers. As he did so, he found himself sliding into a melody that he hadn’t played since he was a child:

 

♪♪ _TOO tootootootootoo too too tootootoo too TOO! TOO tootootootootootoo too TOO too tootoo TOOO!_ ♫

 

Where had that song come from again? Oh, that’s right. He’d played it for Jiang Cheng that one day, oh so long ago. And there’d been the prank they’d pulled afterward. Madam Yu had been furious when she’d found them in the sentry tower, and had ordered both boys confined to their rooms for two days. Jiang Yanli had only been allowed to see them when she brought them their meals. Wei Wuxian laughed, somewhat hysterically as he heard what might have been a canine snuffle below him, and turned his mind back to the music. Hadn’t there been a bit before that, too? How did it go again? Ah. Yes.

Wei Wuxian paused to take a breath, then rearranged his finger positions, closed his eyes, and let the melody in his memory carry him away.

 

♪♪ _Tootootootoo TOO TOO TOO. Tootootootoo TOO TOO TOO—OO—OO. Tootootootoo TOO TOO TOO too TOO TOO TOO…_ ♫

 

When he finally opened his eyes again, it was too see a pale figure on the ground below him, and no dog in sight.

Truly relieved, Wei Wuxian scrambled down and flung his arms around the cultivator. “Lan Zhan, you saved me!”

“Mn. Fairy has returned to its master.” Lan Wangji returned the embrace, then adjusted their positions so he could walk, though he maintained their physical contact. “Let’s go home.”

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with this one, I'll admit. For the moment, although the canon doesn't specify that Jiang Cheng, Jin Ling, or Lan Jingyi play instruments or are musically incline, let's pretend that everyone in this story has some sort of musical knowledge. Also, let's pretend that the four different songs are variations (even though they're not). Finally, we all know that Lan Wangji is the only person who would show up when a certain person plays a specific tune (I won't say which one, but you can probably guess).
> 
> Kudos to anyone who can figure out which melody is in which section (hint: they're not necessarily in order).


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